


Deadbeat Girl

by redmeption



Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Blackmail, F/M, First Dates, Meet-Cute, Morality, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change, Trespassing, don't know what to say without spoiling it lmao, i know that isn't how computers work, kind of first kiss, past trauma, you're a HACKER
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-19 12:50:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9441116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redmeption/pseuds/redmeption
Summary: A life changing argument with your parents sent you halfway across the country, alone, so you went your own way. Granted, it’s a little bit illegal.But a little law breaking never hurt anybody, right?Now you’re caught in a dangerous conflict with arguably the second most hated hacker group in San Francisco. Prime_Eight have you securely pinned under their thumb. Needless to say you’ll do whatever they ask so that certain details aren’t let out before their time. No matter how difficult this will be, it’s your last chance to impress them with your devotion: you’ll do anything.You’d better not fuck this up.





	1. The Question of Legality versus Morality

 

He said 8am _exactly_.

It’s quarter past and still no sign of him. In the instructions they left you it _specifically ordered_ that you arrive at 8am _exactly_ – which you had – but the other side of the deal hasn’t even shown his face yet. At least you assume it’s a he. You don’t really know enough about them to guess. Might not want to bring that up in conversation, you know. If they have enough money to pay what you were told to offer then they _certainly_ have enough to cover up any ‘unfortunate accidents’ you might ‘unfortunately be involved in’.

God, is it hot outside? It feels hot to you. Your palms grow a little clammy and you hope that you’re not going red.

Here you are: waiting to make perfectly acceptable business with a (probably?) respectable business person and you’re acting like it’s a drug deal, or something! It’s ridiculous. You’re not doing anything wrong – it’s all legal stuff.

…

But then comes the question of whether legality is equal to morality, and whether or not the consequences of this will _continue_ to be legal. After all, if you commit a crime then somebody knows. It’s there for everyone to see – you’d be judged for it. If it’s just a moral issue, then who knows? Nobody! You’re stuck with it, lugging it around like a parasite for the rest of your life. Who knows what the consequences of this will be? Maybe you would go to jail. You were briefed about the client’s request and you know well enough that it involves DedSec. It’s unlikely anyone would want to interfere with them without cause, so this client must have a _serious_ grudge.

Hell, look what they managed to do with the New Dawn church! They left them with an almost completely estranged membership and a name slandered so badly even a scumbag like Mark Thruss publicly expressed his disgust. And it wouldn’t even be as bad if—

“Sorry I’m late. Got caught up with something,” a deep voice sets you spinning around to meet it, nearly dropping your phone onto the concrete.

He says your name, and you confirm it with a nod. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” With an expectant gaze, you look up at him and wait for him to proceed with…whatever this would entail. Would you have to sign a contract? What if you had to sign more than _one_? Like, a stack of paperwork. Or maybe—

“It was just a small issue with an unusual partner. Too much talking, not enough doing. Needless to say, our partnership is no more,” he holds one wrist in his hand and gives you a short smile you’re not sure you can reciprocate. It’s oddly familiar and you can’t remember where you’ve seen him. The deep lines around his mouth and forehead flex as that smile dissipates and you’re left staring at him. He’s maybe in his forties, slightly greying hair at the sides, but those lines indicate stress. That and the vein bulging on his right temple. Well dressed in a simple grey suit and not three steps away from a non-descript black car with tinted windows suggests that he hasn’t just come for a walk in the park. He’s going somewhere after this. Although barely visible, you can make out the silhouette of a driver. You can’t tell where he’s looking, but the weird, writhing feeling in your stomach tells you it’s probably not at the flowers. Something must have happened while you were dazed out because he’s laughing – and now you’re really worried. “It’s not as sinister as I made it sound. Now, I’m in a bit of a hurry, all I need is for you to listen, be compliant, and you will get your money. Can you do that for me?”

Blindly, you’re nodding before you can even process it. You just know that it’s probably best to do what he asks. Despite his unspoken denial that he’s some sort of freakish Mafia boss, you aren’t quite ready to take his word at face value yet. You’re just glad that he’s as happy to speed along with this as you are.

You’re going to have to have a lie down after this…

“A week ago I was hacked by DedSec: they plastered their shit all over my show on the night I had the best panel _A Night with Julius Sparks_ had ever seen,” (that was where you’d seen him!) “The ratings were scheduled to double!” He lets out an exasperated sigh, hands gesturing expressively. You watch, holding your breath looking questionably up at him. “Well, they tripled. But the days of repairs that it took, how many people I had to fire because of how fucking useless they were, the time and money I wasted on something so utterly trivial that I just…And why did they do this?” Under a heavy brow, he squints at you, studying your expression, a lungful of repressed anger making him seem about to burst. “Just because I made a passing comment about their mindless fucking group, they slandered me. Perhaps my word is so influential in their eyes that I’m not even allowed to make a joke. They parade around advocating free speech and then what? They censor me! And I want my revenge.”

The silence that follows his story makes you realise with a soft ‘oh’ that you’re supposed to reply. “Uh, I can understand that.” None of the other people that had contracted you in the past had told you practically their whole life story and then some. Usually just a little context and send you on your way. But then again, are you really in a position to question him? It’s not like you have any choice. If he’s come to you through Prime_Eight then he knows about their previous counts of data trafficking, and with leverage such as his, it wouldn’t be difficult to have you sent to prison just for being affiliated, let alone initiating a deal.

“Good, because the understanding is half of the deal here. It’s one thing to go and hijack their roots in social media. It’s another beast entirely to do it with _feeling_ ,” he shoves his hands in his pockets and lets an easy grin fall across his face: one that you can recognise now. Of all those times you’ve skimmed past his show on TV and seen that empty, charismatic grin you didn’t notice him until he mentioned it. It’s odd how much stuff you forget you know. “So that’s what I want you to do. The method is up to you, but the outcome I want the same: damage them. Sever their connections: get a hold of one of their idols and have them deface them…Heh, blackmail someone, if you have to. I’ll deal with the damage. If you want to be creative, you could even spin up a fake update to their app – I seem to remember that Zombi2 virus a few weeks ago. Have it erase all trace of DedSec from any device that it touches. It’d spread faster than Siska’s sex tape on speed.”

Your eyes widen. “You want me to make a mock Zombi2?”

“It would be an interesting approach, although ultimately the way in which you choose to fuck them over is up to you,” then he raises a quizzical brow. “Why? Think it’d be too hard? Need a bigger paycheck?”

“No no no no, it’d be a walkover, and the pay thing?” You shrug, trying to play off your hopes with an indifferent half smile. “The offer you’ve already made has been…extremely generous. I’m not sure I could accept any more without feeling like I’m taking too much.”

He scoffs, “So you don’t want the extra $15 thousand then?”

Your jaw drops. That’s half what he’s already offered.

“It’d be a small investment considering the immense satisfaction I’d get from it. And who knows, depending on the damage you do I could double the total…triple it if it’s that substantial,” Julius gives a throwaway glance to his car and then looks back to you. “Will you take it?” He sees your conflicted expression and squints down at you. “If you’re worried about the morality then I think it’s a little late for that, don’t you?”

Frantically, you shake your head. “No, it’s not a problem. I’ll take it…thank you.”

He waves it off. “Don’t mention it. Now, I really must push on. If I need to meet you again, then I’ll contact you. Keep me updated.” Julius offers you his hand which you take, a question flashing through your mind at the sight of it that you aren’t sure you should ask.

After one shake, you pipe up, “Uh, sorry, but how will I contact you exactly?” It’s not like you can just talk about this over Invite or something.

“Oh, almost forgot,” he exclaims, withdrawing his hand and producing a small, non-branded phone from his pocket and placing it in your open palm. “I’m the only contact on there, so it’s impossible to miss it. My current schedule is pretty unpredictable, so if you keep it with you then you won’t miss any messages. My time away from the studio or the office is limited at best, so if I schedule a personal meeting it will likely be important.” Pulling his sleeve up, he checks his watch and signals to his driver who crawls the three feet closer to meet him. With his hand on the door, he says, “Really was lovely to meet you. Good luck with everything.” And he sinks into his seat, the door shutting behind him. The window rolls down slightly and he calls, “I’ll message you about the first payment in due course. Expect me.”

The car pulls away from its place next to you and soon it disappears around a corner and you can’t quite believe it all happened. You’re not going to become destitute after all…it’s done. Shakily, you let out a sigh. Holy shit. You did it. You _did_ it! And it only took a little gentle persuasion to keep you in the protection of Prime_Eight. ‘ _Gentle persuasion’_ obviously entailing threats of doxxing you to your family: telling them exactly where you’ve disappeared to and most likely why, too.

They don’t know for a reason.

If you keep standing there like you’ve seen a ghost then somebody will most likely have something to say about it. You don’t want that. With a shake of your head, you head back to your apartment, slinging your backpack over one shoulder. The walk back has you completely dazed out as your body settles into autopilot.

Eventually, you arrive. For some reason while you were out you expected it to get tidier. It did not.

Your old tech lies across every surface – strewn carelessly even on the sofa. As you sit down, you feel a sharp stab and jolt up.

“Motherfu—!” Tenderly, you pick up the section of circuit board and fling it across the room. It has a lump of solder across it anyway and you’re too lazy to come up with anything creative to do with it.

Your pyjamas are still left hanging over one of the arms of the sofa, so you kick off your shoes and slide out of the floral dress your back is clinging to. Had you really been _that_ nervous? It’s a good thing you were facing him the entire time you were talking or he could’ve had a very different reaction to you. Not all hackers are basement dwelling, energy drink chugging, sweaty weirdos – you know that, but does he?

The soft, familiar fabric feels comforting against your skin. And hey, the top even has a dog on it! Immediately you feel better.

However, that feeling quickly dissipates when you look across to your laptop. So many distasteful things have been created on it and all because of some stupid argument between you and your parents a couple of years ago. If only you weren’t so fucking stubborn then maybe you wouldn’t be here.

But you can never know, can you?

What happened and whose fault it was isn’t something you can waste time thinking about anymore. You may be stubborn but you sure as shit don’t pity yourself.

With a determined little huff, you pick up your laptop and set to writing the first few lines of code – just to test the waters.

Just as you thought.

You could do this in your sleep.


	2. Probably Defrosted Peas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've worn yourself out yet again, and due to an emergency trip to the replacement parts shop, you meet someone out of a graphic novel. How /does/ that mask work?

When you wake up to the dimmed screen of your laptop, your first thought is, ‘ _Wow, I’m warm, I sure hope I didn’t leave the heating on_ ’. After realising that it isn’t the heating, but rather the near-to-exploding-from-poor-ventilation device on your lap, you scream in pain. It feels like the surface of the sun! It must only have been an hour since you fell asleep while dutifully at work. Maybe you slumped over and the blanket clogged the fan?

You leap out of your seat and take the laptop with you, realise it’s too hot, drop it, and dance around the coffee table blowing on your hand to try and cool down for a solid thirty seconds.

Turns out you _couldn’t_ do this in your sleep.

You’re not stupid: you’ve read those articles about freak house-burning-downs because of laptops left to burn a hole in the floor. That’s _not_ going to be you. No way. You just need something insulating enough to keep the heat off of you while you move it…

Ah! Oven mitts!

The smirk on your lips – oh yeah, you’ve got this.

It takes some delicate manoeuvring (meaning a sweeping kick of your leg where you nearly fall over) to clear the coffee table, but you successfully place it upside down with the lid shut.

Although you can’t check how much you did last night just yet, you’re pretty sure you made some progress. You had picked the Zombi virus idea. I mean, anyone who’s even _heard_ of HaDoCk has to be impressed. The guy’s a genius! And that little ‘ _braaaaains_ ’ autocorrect thing? Cherry on top of the already amazing cake! Sure, it probably caused some damage in its time, but hey, can’t help but feel inspired. You aren’t going to sit and copy his work digit by digit – no, that would be plagiarism – but there’s nothing wrong with taking inspiration.

Imitation _is_ the sincerest form of flattery, after all.

It’s times like this that you enjoy the most. Not the money making, – although that _is_ only because you have to – not the brush with the law. Just creating something. The idea that with a few lines of code you can manipulate a larger system and, in turn, an entire group of people is just crazy and wildly fascinating to you. It’s just too bad you were never able to make a viable career out of it.

Looking back at your laptop, you figure that it will cool down within a few minutes and that it’s safe to make some toast while you wait. Sleepily, you wait for the toast to pop up and scare the life out of you.

Something makes you jump like you’ve been electrocuted, but it’s not the toaster.

There’s an excruciatingly loud bang. This will not be good…

You run back in to your lounge and immediately head for your laptop. It doesn’t take much to hear that the fan has stopped whirring: it’s even hotter than it was before! You’re not sure what to do. Quickly, grab a magazine and fan the smoke away from the smoke detector. It won’t be hard to find a replacement fan – you know of at least three tech shops that would sell just what you need – it’s just the timing of it all. Couldn’t this have happened when you didn’t have anything important to do?

Hell, last week all you did was sit around eating a lot of ice cream…like, _a lot_ of ice cream.

Maybe if ice cream wouldn’t absolutely wreck your laptop, it’d be a good idea to lather it completely to help it cool down. But that would be a waste of ice cream. You do have some frozen peas somewhere, though…

The set-up is complete!

As you carefully munch your only slightly singed toast, you survey your handiwork. Your laptop is balanced over a waste paper bin with the broken vents facing upwards, a single tea towel over that, and the bag of peas to hopefully bring the temperature down. It’s not on anymore and you’ve taken the broken vents out. It shouldn’t generate any more heat, so when you feel safe enough, you leave to take a shower.

With the pressure of your job hanging over your head, it takes you half as long to get ready and within fifteen minutes you’re out the door.

-

You’ve been in the queue for five minutes. _Five_ minutes! What’s the guy in front of you even ordering? A small army of computers?

Three times the cashier at the front desk has gone into the storeroom. Three times. You would think that it would be possible for a customer to remember their entire order and ask for it in _one go_ and not three parts!

Although, the guy in front of you doesn’t look like your average person. You haven’t yet seen the front of him, but from the amount of spikes across his back it’s safe to assume that he’s…alternative. It’s like he can feel your eyes on him or something because he looks over his shoulder a little nervously just as the cashier disappears into the storeroom for the fourth time.

And that’s when you see the mask.

The majority of it is spiked – to match the vest, which you think is quite cute – and above the spiked section are a pair of Xs. To start with you assume they’re just decorative, but as he meets your eyes and they dissipate into exclamation points, your eyes widen. _Holy shit, that’s awesome!_

You want to ask all of your questions at once. _How does it even work? Where the hell did he get it from? Wait, did he make it?_

“Sorry about this, hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long?” He asks, seeming genuinely concerned. His voice is odd – there must be some sort of voice modulation box in there somewhere.

You shrug with a smile, eyes darting all over the mask. “No, not too long. Well. I was getting bored but then I saw that mask.” At this, he laughs and turns to face you properly. Obviously he doesn’t expect his order to be here very soon. Somehow, you don’t mind as much anymore. At least you have someone to talk to. “So…how does it work? You’re not changing it with an app or something, are you?”

He taps where the side of his nose would be. “A true magician never reveals his secrets,” the ever-changing emotes flicker to carets and then into what you can only guess is a wink. “Wouldn’t want you to sell my secrets now, would I?”

The tone he uses is playful, daring: he’s confident enough to assert himself. Despite his laid back stance and slightly scrawny physique, you don’t _really_ want to cross him. You know he doesn’t know of your Prime_Eight ties – you’re _sure_ of it: the only thing the internet knows you by is your handle, not your real name – but you can’t help but feel a little wary. If you’ve drawn anything from your partnership with them it’s that the most innocent of things can seem extremely dubious when you’re constantly evading the law.

Quick to right yourself, you tilt your head, matching his playful attitude. You even fix him a little grin. “Can’t blame a girl for trying…”

It’s meant jokingly and thankfully he takes it that way. He says something else, you know he does, because he’s murmuring on in the background while you stare in silent horror at his hoodie. Oh God. It’s DedSec!

You’re not sure what you should do. He’ll find out that you haven’t been listening one way or another – that’s a given – but how do you explain it? He’s not going to keep talking to you if he thinks you’re some kind of freak who just dazes off every minute. Not that there’s a specific reason that you _need_ to keep talking to him. Just that…you kind of… _want_ to. It’s not every day you meet a punk in a spiky mask!

And okay, he could just be a part of the DedSec ‘collective’ and not in with the so-called leaders, but wouldn’t that be useful?

Why not go full on Prime_Eight style and forfeit your moral compass altogether! Smash that shit on the ground and stamp on it. You’re already preparing the proverbial knockout punch to their group anyway. A little inside information – if you could squeeze it out of him – would be useful to say the least.

No.

No, you wouldn’t do that! Things may be a little tough right now but you can work on that whole mock-up Zombi shebang by yourself, no back-stabbing or cheating involved. At least without cause.

Seemingly concerned, he waves his hands. It catches your attention and sheepishly you look up to his face again. “You okay there?” He asks with an amused chuckle. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those lizard people.”

“I, uh,” you bite back a yawn, pretending it’s just sleep deprivation that sent you into la-la land. Well, technically it’s not a lie. You only got about an hour or two of sleep last night and a lot of coffee. It’s not even that you like it that much: it just keeps the code pouring out of your brain and onto the keyboard. “It’s not a joking matter, I’m absolutely a lizard. Can’t you tell?” As he laughs, the carets pop up again and you giggle along with him. “Sorry. I had like…one, maybe two hours sleep. I’m not really too with it at the moment.” You punctuate it with a full blown yawn this time. The brief seconds of darkness that envelop you as you close your eyes make you think you could fall asleep just standing up.

“…And so you decided it’d be a good idea to get out at nine and buy a replacement laptop fan…?”

There is a pause. You watch his mask closely and, fixating your gaze to where you suppose his eyes are, deadpan, “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Meh, I’ve done weirder things. Guess I can’t really judge you on that,” he crosses his arms and—wait, is he moving closer?

It’s subtle, only a couple of baby steps, but he’s definitely nearer than he was before.

He tilts his head. “What were you even doing to it that made the fan break?”

“Oh, I think when I fell asleep my blanket stuffed up the vent. I woke up when it felt like the actual sun was on my legs, left it to cool while I made toast, and then put some peas on it.” _Another_ yawn bubbles at the back of your throat and you can’t subdue the tempting thoughts of how lovely it’d feel if you would just—

“Wait, _what_?!” He cries, going ‘wide eyed’. “I mean, I’ve read a few of those weird life hacks but I’ve never heard of that one. Why would you even…?”

Then it occurs to you that perhaps what you’re saying doesn’t make sense to anyone but you, and you let out a little sigh. “Frozen peas: to cool it down while I’m out buying a replacement fan.”

“Why didn’t you just put up a desk fan next to it?” He asks incredulously.

Ah. Yeah, that does make more sense.

“I…didn’t think of that.”

Although you can’t see his real expression, if the mask is anything to go by he’s in tears laughing. Waves of giddy laughter make him shake even after he stops and settles into breathy panting. Under his breath he whispers something you can’t quite make out, but it sounds like, ‘ _Gotta tell Marcus_ ’.

The silence you fall into isn’t by any means awkward: it’s just sort of quietly comfortable.

But he speaks first. “So…have you seen the new Jimmy Siska movie yet? I’ve been meaning to but…something else came up.”

Your head snaps to look at him. “ _You_ like Jimmy Siska?”

“Hell yeah!” He says. “Why wouldn’t I?”

First impressions, you suppose. “A lot of people lost interest with his newer films…I’m probably wrong, but you just struck me as someone who’d only like his earlier stuff.”

“Me? A Siska hipster?” He scoffs. “Nope, absolutely not. I still adore him in his new cringe-y glory. What about you? Did you like him before he was ‘too mainstream’?” He wiggles his fingers about and the emotes change to two differently sized Os.

You giggle. “It sounds strange, but I kind of still like him. He’s like an embarrassing dad.”

“Ha, yeah, you grow up thinking he’s awesome and then you finally realise he’s not.” As he speaks, you nod along with an amused smirk.

It’s as you find yourself smiling at him that you don’t know what his name is. You wonder if it’s a good idea to ask.

He beats you to it. “Hey, uh, I just realised I didn’t ask your name…”

You tell him and then ask his.

“Ah,” he starts. It intrigues you. Could it really be _that_ embarrassing? “Officially? ‘The Wrench’. But just ‘Wrench’ is fine.”

A weird part of your brain immediately makes you ask, “Is there a story behind that? Because if there is then I would _love_ to hear it.”

It draws out another laugh – something you seem to be able to do easily for one another – and you wonder if he’s enjoying your company as much as you are his. It’s like something out of a movie.

But just like in the movies, you’re interrupted. Damn workers just trying to be helpful. Unbelievable!

Trailing a sack trolley at his side, the cashier nears Wrench. “Sorry for the wait,” he nods to you and turns to your spiky companion, “took three guys just to get this off the shelf without breaking it: it’s that fragile. It’ll be fine to pull, though – not too heavy. Guessing you came by car?”

“Yup,” Wrench nods, shaking the guy’s hand in thanks. “I can take her from here.”

‘She’ is in a large, unmarked box on the trolley. You can’t imagine what’s in it, but it’s not at the forefront of your mind. Unfortunately, now that he’s got his order he’s got to go. No matter how scintillating the conversation, you doubt he wants to spend all day in a musty tech shop. Or maybe he does. At least, _you_ don’t really want to.

After the goods are passed over and the cashier has wiped his hands down on his shirt, a silence settles. You glance at him and then to Wrench who stares back with question marks. It’s like the guy doesn’t even know what he interrupted.

All it takes is for him to look back up, whisper ‘oh’, and scurry back to behind the counter. He pretends to be busy and you silently agree to turn a blind eye. Just for a minute.

“So,” he says, trailing off when it occurs to him that he doesn’t know where he’s going with it.

“So,” you mimic. You’re in the same predicament. Ah! It’s poor, but you’ve got something. “Hope you enjoy Cyberdriver when you get around to seeing it.”

As he takes one hand from the trolley to scratch at his collar bone, you notice the anarchist symbol there and a pair of carets pop into view. “Heh, yeah, looking forward to it! And good luck with the peas…might want to go pay for that, actually.” He tilts his head, pointing to the fan, forgotten in your hand. “How long do peas even stay frozen for?” It’s obvious he’s delaying you, and from the slight catch in his throat, he’s nervous. Does he want to ask you something? You hope he does. It’s not often you hit it off this well with near-strangers, and you kind of don’t want to lose him.

“No idea, but I’m not sure I want to wait around and find out,” you giggle, smiling lopsidedly up at him. After a few paces to the front desk, you look back to him. “Bye, Wrench. It’s been…interesting to meet you.” You mean it in the best way.

He takes a few steps in the other direction as he says goodbye, seemingly happy. You watch the door close over your shoulder while you hand the fan to the cashier. Normally you would try to strike up a little conversation, but today is not ‘normally’. Only now as you don’t have to pretend to be awake and aware do your eyelids start drooping – a large, supressed yawn clawing its way out of your throat. You’re used to sleepless nights but this one really took it out of you. By the time your eyes open, you’ve paid and have your replacement set in your backpack.

Politely, you muster a farewell and head outside…only to bump straight into somebody.

You jolt up to apologise, but it’s Wrench! Had he been waiting for you?

Audibly, he breathes in as if it takes great effort to push his next words out. “I don’t do this often or anything, I just…” he sighs heavily, “would you like to see Cyberdriver with me? If you want? And you can totally say no…”

“Yes!” You reply, immediately. Oh God, was that too eager? “Uh, I mean, yeah, that’d be great! Thank you.” Ugh, now it sounds like you’ve been waiting for him to say that! I mean, you totally have, but he doesn’t need to know it.

But he doesn’t seem to mind at all. “Great! If you’re not sick of me by now, I’m free this Saturday?”

Today is Thursday. Two and-a-bit days. You can get the virus done in that time with maybe a day to spare, can’t you?

“Sounds good,” you nod, ignoring the stab of guilt at the thought of the dreaded coding you have left. When it gets out, he can never know it was you. Smiling, you suggest, “I can do 6pm?” It’s about two hours and maybe, if it goes well, you could ask him out for a pizza or something?

Wrench nods, eagerly. “Give me your phone a sec,” he says. You hand it to him – careful to give him your personal one and not the ‘business’ cell given to you yesterday. He puts his number in and you trust that he’ll message you soon. He opens the door to the car next to him. In all your excitement, you hadn’t noticed it. It was just a piece of the blurry scenery.

For the last time, you say your hurried goodbyes and he drives away, leaving you to head back to your apartment.

The whole experience leaves you feeling fuzzy in the head and smiling giddily – you’re not sure if it’s the exhaustion or the idea of a movie with Wrench, but it makes you happy nonetheless.

And then you remember the (probably defrosted) bag of peas on your laptop.

You break into a run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all who have read this and given me feedback - I'm so amazed at the response! I'm still not 100% decided on a schedule, but one chapter a week is (hopefully, if I'm not busy with school, etc) looking promising.   
> As before, comments and feedback on this really help, and if something isn't right or I've made a mistake, tell me! I'll be glad to know. Your response really matters to me!  
> Have a lovely day, thank you again, xox


	3. Totally Not Pyjamas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr Sparks has something he needs to discuss with you. 
> 
> You're not so pleased about this.

You stare at the message on your new business phone, your lips pulled together uncomfortably.

It’s Julius Sparks. Of course, I mean, who else could it be?

_How’s the job going? It got enough feeling? – JS_

You’re not quite sure why, but as you type your reply, your fingers shake unsteadily over the keypad.

_It’s done._ After you send it, you frown. _Are you sure this is a secure channel?_

You’d hate to have gone to all this trouble to keep your work under wraps just to have someone trace a goddamn text message.

His reply comes seconds later. _Completely secure._

Nothing else comes through for a minute, and so you wonder if he’s done talking. He did say he was on an unpredictable schedule. Maybe he just had a minute to check up on you and nothing else?

Yesterday when you got back from the replacement store, you fitted the fan and restarted your laptop to see the damage. It wasn’t all that you expected. A few lines off the end – nothing irreplaceable. When it was finished you had picked up your personal phone and checked your messages. A few from your friends – nothing unusual – and then at the bottom of the list was one from a sender saved as ‘ _Hot Stuff ;)_ ’.

No guesses as to who that was from.

It said, _Still up for the movie on Saturday? – W_

You were, of course, and replied as such. For the rest of Thursday, you talked like nothing else existed. Films, TV shows, retro hackers, video games, and he even asked about your frozen pea situation.

You assured him that they had been safely dealt with.

It was only when he said he had to go that you stopped. If something hadn’t come up, you knew you would’ve been talking for _hours_. A small part of you that second guessed everyone’s actions made you wonder if it was you that made him leave. That he was bored, that he didn’t want to talk anymore.

But if he was then he wouldn’t have messaged you ten minutes later saying, _Missing you already :(_.

Needless to say, he likes you.

But now, with a night’s sleep between you and your movie date you’ve been so looking forward to, you have to deal with Mr Sparks.

Oh joy.

Another message from him arrives just as you’re about to rewatch _Blade Runner_ , and with a heavy sigh, you read it.

_About distributing this virus. Find me a suitable drop off point and I will drive you there. Bring nothing with you but this phone: message me when ready._

Ugh. _Ugh._

He’s talking about this like it can be done within half an hour. Which, theoretically, it _could_. A big element with finding a suitable injection point is luck. There may be a person you can find on surveillance footage with some DedSec merch on right now to track and infect or there may not be. Unlike the coding, it’s not something you can just create. So you’d better get started. An hour or ten minutes…there’s got to be something…

-

Got it! And it only took…

…27 minutes. Not too shabby!

You pick up your phone and type, _Got one. Followed them to a 10Donuts 1km away. Tell you the address in the car. That good enough?_

Taking a wild guess, you figure that having the injection point a bit of journey away will make it harder for anybody that works it out to trace it back to you. Although the virus you’ve made is so subtle, it may take days before it does, and by that time (as the infected phone is hooked up to a public network) the interference will be buried beneath thousands of other logs. It’ll take someone very dedicated to scrape through them all to find yours and track it back.

In other words, you’re practically untouchable.

_Perfect. Look for the same car as the first time – two blocks away. Won’t be long – JS_

You send the virus to your business phone, letting it download while you pull your hair up into a half-hearted excuse for a ponytail. You don’t have to make an effort for him – you’re doing the work he’s asking for, right? With a careless glance across your outfit, you suddenly hope you won’t have to get out of the car. What you’re wearing could easily get confused for pyjamas – a shirt two sizes too big, sweatpants, and slipper socks stuffed into a pair of running shoes. You could change…

_Ready and waiting – JS_

Well. Guess you’re going out in pyjamas, huh?

_And no food. Seats only just reupholstered – JS_

Slightly offended at what kind of person he’s taking you for, you want to type back a barbed response, but stop yourself, glancing guiltily to the half-eaten sandwich in your hand. Maybe he’s a better judge of character than you want him to be.

You shrug on a thin coat just to have pockets to shove your phone into, and then head out the door. As you descend the stairs you try not to think of your abandoned sandwich.

Stupid Sparks…

Once on the street – ignoring the weird looks you’re getting – you scan around for the car. It’s hard to find it among so many others, but after crossing over, you spot it.

When you get in the car, he greets you shortly – purely out of good manners – and then asks for the address which you promptly give him. As he gestures to the driver, the car pulls out onto the road and you side-eye him. He’s looking over your clothes…judging you…

“I didn’t interrupt something, did I?” He probes.

_Yes_ , you want to say. “No. Well, nothing important.” Liar. That sandwich was _really good_.

He hums in response, getting the message as you dust some crumbs from your lips. Without a word, he raises an eyebrow and turns to face the tinted window. “As we have a few minutes of face to face conversation, I’d like to discuss our next step.” Your inclusion in his plan still makes you a little uncomfortable. It’s impossible to stop it. “How did you brand your virus? With a trademark? A name?” He’s thinking of the ‘braaaainnns’ thing. Despite the concept, it’d be largely impractical to make your own signifying line for the purpose you want to achieve, let alone the fact that HaDoCk’s not been known to take too well to copy-and-paste-cats. Probably best to draw the line there in terms of ‘taking inspiration’.

“Nothing,” you reply, pulling your legs up onto the seat and sitting cross-legged. Before he can tell you to put them down, you speak, cutting him off. “I left it nameless. Thought it’d be harder to pin on any one person, that way. Even if I did put a name in it, it’d be buried in the code somewhere. It has to be as inconspicuous as possible to infect as many devices as it can before it’s noticed.” You pause. “And we don’t want an angry HaDoCk on our tails, do we?”

Slowly at first, he nods, and then it seems to sink in. “No…I suppose not. So tell me, how does it work? Simply, of course.”

“Okay, well, it’s easy. The infected device gets a notification from the app saying that there’s an update – as is usual. The notification is opened, the virus downloaded, and while it’s updating, the malware renders the app’s functions completely useless. Think…a frozen display on a computer, but permanent. Even if the app is deleted and downloaded again.” You watch his response, continuing after he nods. “It’s spread to every friend the person has on the app, any messaging they do with another user…and if any of them get infected then it’ll go on and on and on…”

There’s a small silence. He turns back to you from the window, and you play with a loose thread on your sock. “How long do you suppose it will take for this virus to become—”

“Big enough to make a difference? It depends.” You cut in. “We might need another device to infect, we might not. It’s down to your patience, too.”

He raises an eyebrow, silently asking just what exactly you mean.

“Think about it: if you’re patient and we stick with this one guy and let it spread from there, then it’ll take a while. But who’ll notice it if it’s such a small percentage of the users? And then if you can’t wait, then we could do…say…twenty, twenty-five injection points in succession and it’d take up a lot faster.”

The glint in his eye tells you before he speaks that he gets it. “…But it’s more likely to be discovered and rooted out…”

“Exactly.”

With an expectant gaze, you watch his slight frown, waiting for him to respond.

After drawing in a breath, he says, “I think I can be patient. If you can?”

You give a dry laugh. “Yeah. I think I can manage.”

-

Parked on the other side of the street outside of the café, you watch your target. He’s wearing a DedSec beanie – that was how you identified him on the street cams. If you think about it, it’s pretty fucking impressive. From an entire street of people, you had managed to pick out the one wearing DedSec merch.

Discreetly, you point him out. “That’s the one.” While Sparks tries to get a better look, forgetting only momentarily the secrecy of the matter, you take out your phone and send the virus. It takes about thirty seconds, and then you have your first victim. All he has to do now is open it. Which he will do. Eventually.

Well, ‘victim’ sounds a little more sinister than what you’re going for, but nothing else has quite the same ring to it.

You feel Julius’ eyes on you.

“So it’s done?” He asks. “Just like that?”

You nod. “Just like that.”

He opens his mouth to talk again – possibly to ask another question – but his phone rings. Mouthing what you assume to be an apology in your general direction, he takes it, stepping out of the car. He paces the pavement, free hand shoved in pocket, saying things you can’t quite hear or see clearly enough to read.

Seeing no reason now to listen to your (kind of?) boss’s conversation, you slump back in the warm seat. In a moment of nothing to do, your mind brings up something that you’ve been trying to supress. It’s clear that to Julius Sparks, people are little more than pawns, you suppose it’s what comes from a job such as his. He had to climb to the top through his own willpower. You can’t do that with a kind heart: not in a market as competitive as television, which may also explain why he has asked you to do all that he has and without a second thought.

But you are not him.

Your job is not what you would have chosen. In fact, it was your lack of choice that led to being forced to take it. And now it’s your lack of choice that means you can’t get out of it. You’re too empathetic to be a business person, and probably too empathetic to be doing what you are right now. It’s as you watch the guy sitting on the café barstool, headphones in ears, head bobbing along to some song you can’t hear that it hits you.

As simple as it sounds, your actions have consequences.

You will probably have ruined this guy’s day.

While it’s easy to think that – and while it’s likely true – you have to force yourself to take a step back. It’s not just you who’s done wrong in the world. Yeah, okay, your actions will not be welcomed by this guy in the café. That’s obvious. But somewhere down the line, everybody has to either sacrifice something to avoid hurting someone, or just suck it up and protect themselves.

And what’s it to be? You _not_ following Julius’ wishes and _not_ getting paid, which means _not_ paying your rent, which means _no_ apartment, and who knows what after that? Or messing up an app on a guy’s phone to lead to a bigger issue that likely won’t even affect him? In your heart, you know it’s wrong, but you won’t just refuse to help yourself because of some guy you don’t know and his feelings. That’s not how it works. In the end, you know it’ll all blow over. All you’re being asked to do is a little slandering. It won’t kill anybody. In a few years, it’ll have blown over just like every other scandal or drama has done for decades before you. It’ll just be a few months to do what this guy is asking of you before you can take the money, pick up and leave. A fresh start without Prime_Eight clinging to you, watching your every move, and dictating what you do.

You like the sound of it very much.

Feeling a little less guilty about the situation, and a whole lot more inclined to your boss, you turn your back to the window as a way of blocking the problem out. You face Julius as he gets back in the car, door shutting behind him.

He looks to you. “Ready to head back?”

Confidently, you nod, even throwing in a smile. “Absolutely.”

In a strange turn of events, you think he looks _pleased_ with you. Him! Pleased? With _you_? Huh.

It might just be your lucky day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo three chapters! Thank you to anyone who's read this, given kudos, or commented. It's so encouraging!! Date with Wrench coming in the next chapter and also an interesting (?) element to the Reader's past...  
> Comments and kudos really do help, and I never understood that until I posted something (they really do, trust me!) Thank you again, and have a lovely dayyy xox


	4. How to Give Your Date a Heart Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally it's time for your date, although it's not what you expected.

You stare at yourself in your mirror. It’s 5:50pm and you’re still back and forth on what to wear. In Wrench’s text he had explicitly said ‘something warm and comfortable’ which makes sense – if you’re watching a film then that means a cinema, right? You don’t wear heels and a full face of make up just for that – especially when you’ve left it until ten minutes before you’re supposed to meet the person. You settle finally on a large sweater, leggings, and the running shoes you wore yesterday.

In just your underwear, you face yourself in the mirror. The accident you had after the argument with your parents left you with more than just a bruised pride. With your left hand, you trace the long scar across what remains of your right arm – cutting off just above your elbow. A frown tugs at your lips. It’s not that it hurts; it was over a year now. It just brings back things you had to learn to put to the back of your mind.

In one of your meetings with a recovery therapist, they had said that amputees often deal with the loss of their limb like the loss of a person, especially when as a result of an accident. With no warning, there’s a sudden pressure to learn to do everything again. Some people just adjust to the situation faster than others.

Now, as you stand today, you have learned to cope. You can put on your bra with one hand and do it up, tie your shoelaces without help, and make dinner by yourself. Countless people have said to you that if they were in your position they couldn’t do it.

But they could. They would have to.

You don’t have a choice – you just have to pick yourself up and move along.

You slip the sock over your residual limb, followed by the prosthesis, and then the brace to hide the seal. With a practised shimmy, you have the rest of your clothes on in five minutes, feet slipping into shoes, bag picked up, and out the door without time to question anything further.

Halfway down the stairs, he messages you. _Meet me here. Excited to see you ;) - W_

For you, excited is an understatement.

Attached is an address which you plug into Nudle maps and follow. It’s not more than a five minute walk. When you arrive, you spot him immediately outside a Foodmart. He turns in your direction and the emotes on his mask stand out like cats eyes in the dark. Although it’s just past 6pm it’s definitely well on its way to night time.

“Hello, stranger,” he drawls, and for a split second he has you thinking he’s drunk, but then he stands up straight and chuckles. You smile with him. It feels like he’s meeting your eyes. “You look gorgeous.”

With a giggle, you pass off the compliment. You always found it difficult. “And you look very…spiky.” The lopsided smirk you give him shows you’re only teasing.

He seems pleased. “Just what I was aiming for, babe.” Similarly to when you first met, he’s wearing the vest, although it’s a different hoodie underneath it. Just plain grey: nothing to do with DedSec whatsoever. It draws a smile from you. “Now,” you focus on him, “if you’ll follow me, then I’ll explain en route.”

While you walk (making sure he’s on your left side to avoid awkwardness), he lays out the plan for the evening. “Okay, so…I’ve found this series of abandoned tunnels a short walk from here – ten…fifteen minutes’ walk,” he grips your arm, stopping as the lights change to red. You open your mouth to ask what that has to do with watching Cyberdriver, but he cuts you off before you can speak. “After some thorough research it appears they belong to Blume.”

“What would Blume want to build tunnels for?” You ask as you cross over, glancing up at him in growing confusion. Although these tunnels sound…interesting, you kind of want to know when he’ll mention a cinema.

“Subways,” he replies, “with their own tech. Helps monitor everyone more efficiently.”

Sceptically, you frown. “But couldn’t they just fit it into the BART or something?”

“Nope. Word is they didn’t want to have to share their usage with an unaffiliated company.”

“Ah…” You nod along in understanding. “Nobody to see the creepy stuff they’re doing.”

“Exactly.” Wrench pauses when you come to a fence. He jumps over it, extending his hand to you once on the other side. It drops to his side as you cough, pointedly. You’re already over, standing next to him and straightening out your clothes. Surprised, he looks between you and the space you were standing. “…nice.”

About eight minutes later, you reach the entrance to what – unsurprisingly – looks like a subway.

Wrench is a bit fidgety: foot tapping on the floor and his tattooed hands curling and uncurling in his pockets. He glances up to you. You raise an eyebrow. “When I said ‘abandoned’, I meant ‘ _probably_ abandoned’,” tersely, he sighs. “There _might_ be, like, _two_ security guards in the entire complex.” His head tilts away from you. Only when his admission is met with silence, he stands up straight again. “You’re not…hitting me…”

“Why would I do that?” Sure, you could be arrested before the night is over, but wouldn’t it be a little…fun?

“So…you’re okay with it? The guard thing, I mean.” Question marks flash up on his mask.

Reassuringly, you give him a gentle push and a smile. “Sure! Who doesn’t like the risk of getting caught?” Wrench catches the double meaning before you do. “A-ah…I mean…I don’t…I didn’t mean _that_!”

Much to your embarrassment, he laughs raucously, even wiping away a fake tear. For a brief moment you think you see a pair of hearts flicker across the display, but you can’t be sure.

Either way, there’s no denying the blush on your cheeks.

“I’m never gonna let you forget that…” He says through a smile. Thankfully, he shakes his head and opens the door, gesturing for you to enter. “Ladies first…”

Behind the door is a staircase leading down to a very, very dark tunnel. Wrench seems prepared, though, bringing out a flashlight from his backpack. Both of which are covered in spikes and skulls. He directs the beam of light towards the stairs as you walk down them, breaking into a short jog to catch up to you. At the bottom of the stairs, he takes your hand (luckily on your left side) and gently tugs you to follow him.

“May I ask what this has to do with watching Cyberdriver?” You whisper, your voice feeling louder than you thought you made it.

He just runs his thumb over the back of your hand. “Wait and see,” he whispers back. The grin you know he’s speaking through is practically audible.

You walk along the platform in silence for a minute or two: the only sounds are your echoed footsteps. It’s surprisingly not creepy. Just…quiet. There are very few places in San Francisco that are completely silent. In one way, it’s rather beautiful…even if you could be caught and arrested for trespassing. Neatly pasted posters line the wall on the opposite side of the track, the white tiles divided by a thin strip of black are pristine, and the Blume flower mural takes pride of place on the small section of wall above the beginning of the tunnel.

Abruptly, he stops, squeezing your hand to bring you out of your trance. As you look around you, you find it to be the end of the very last section of platform. It’s secluded. A row of unplugged vending machines are big enough to hide a couple of people sat in the corner.

Wrench removes his backpack, placing it on the tiled floor before sitting down himself. From it, he withdraws a laptop, a bag filled with what you assume to be food, and a couple of blankets. In the dark, the flickering carets look up to you.

“Care to sit?”

You do so, crossing your legs and putting your own bag behind you.

Carefully, he shakes open a blanket, draping it over your shoulders. The gesture makes you whisper a thank you. It’s…cute. Somehow, you never imagined that a spiked, tattooed anarchist would be one to do such a thing.

Then again, you never expected to go on a date with one.

He opens up his laptop, opening something which you guess is the movie. Unless he’s going to bring out a film reel and a projector.

After adjusting the volume and display, he wraps the other blanket around his own shoulders, shuffling his belongings and himself closer to you. He plugs in a pair of headphones and hands one to you. With it set in your left ear, the familiar sounds of Jimmy Siska’s theme song make you grin uncontrollably. It’s almost exactly like his others, only this one has somewhat of an electronic twist to it.

You hear a sigh next to you. “Brings back _memories_ , man…” There’s a rustle. He brings out a bag of pretzels and two bottles of beer. “I have some other stuff too if you-”

“It’s perfect,” you say, placing a hand on his arm. Regardless, he makes a show of opening a packet of chips and something else you can’t quite see. Either way, you know you’ll like it.

Just as you had expected from the trailers, the film is cheesy. Well, _more_ than cheesy. At some point, Wrench says, “If I hear ‘cyber’ put in front of _one_ more unnecessary word, I’m going to shove this pretzel up my fucking _ass_!”

Sure enough, the next word is cyberchild.

Slowly, biting the insides of your cheeks, you turn to him. “…Oh, really?”

“Give ‘em here then…” The mask rolls its eyes following a distorted sigh.

Through a giddy laugh, you take them from your right-hand side and give them to him with your left hand.

His digital eyes widen. “Have you done something to your arm?”

Ah.

Something sinks in your stomach: he’s finally noticed. Some people never think enough about it to find out – especially if you don’t act like you’re hiding something. I mean, the fact that a person may be missing a limb isn’t usually the first thing on their mind. And it’s not like it’s your dirty little secret. It’s just another part of you that you and a careful selection of people have come to accept. But it _does_ happen to bring a lot of questions with it. In the end, you know you would have had to tell him. Although it’s not something to be ashamed of, some people just aren’t comfortable dating someone with only one arm. Which is fine.

Never have you ever wanted to force someone to change their mind about you because of anything they might learn – at any point. But you can’t deny that you want him to like you.

Instead of staying fixated on the tiny tuft of ash blond hair falling over his mask, you play your worry off with a smile. After pulling up your sleeve slightly and revealing the prosthetic, you reply. “In a way, yes.”

He’s silent.

The eyes stay wide, flickering slightly. Suddenly, he shakes his head, dropping the pretzels. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to force you! I mean…I’d guessed, but…I didn’t know-”

Wrench stutters his way through an apology. You just laugh, flashing him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay! Don’t worry – really.” As he calms a little, you pause. “…Are you okay with it?”

“What? Yeah, of course I am!” He seems genuinely taken aback. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Leaning against the wall, you let your head fall back. The tiles there are cold. “People act differently when they know you like this. Normally, I don’t make a point of saying anything but…” You tilt your head to face him. As you shrug, you hope that by pretending to be indifferent he won’t know how hopeful you are that you haven’t scared him off. “We’ve only met face to face one, and announcing something like this,” you gesture weakly to your arm, “over text is kind of just…wrong.”

His jaw seems to move slightly – you imagine he’s trying to say something – but then it stills. He doesn’t ask how it happened or if he can see it, and he doesn’t try to sneak a glance. Carefully, as if giving you a chance to back out, he takes you in a firm hug. It says more than words can, you think.

When he pulls away, you drop your hand into your lap.

“Thank you for telling me. I can see how much it takes to…to find the words, I guess,” he lets out a huff and a shrug. “Y’know it wouldn’t have made a difference to me whether you had three arms or four, anyway.”

You laugh. “And what if I had five?”

Taken slightly by surprise, he snorts – the noise sounding weird through the mask. “I’d still think you were hot.”

“So you think I’m hot?” You ask, raising a teasing eyebrow. At this point, both of your earphones have fallen out and the movie is playing in the background. It’s just another piece in the blurry scenery.

Immediately, he scoffs. “Of course.”

“For a nerdy punk, you’re okay, I guess…” You giggle.

It takes a little while, but after you break yourselves away from each other and settle back into the film you find yourselves sat rather close. It’s by no means cold – in fact, you could comfortably sit without the blanket – but an excuse to get closer to him is…a good excuse.

Cautiously, you lean against his chest – testing the waters. When he moves his spiked vest out of the way, you take it as a good sign to continue. His scent of cigarettes and faded cologne are stronger than they had been earlier. The tunnel is dark and warm and you’re snuggled up to another person…how could you not feel sleepy? A yawn sneaks its way out of your mouth, feeling a little too encouraging.

It only takes another minute of promising yourself that you’ll stay awake before you fall asleep.

-

Something is poking your nose. Peeling your eyelids apart with a groan, you look up to see Wrench. Looking up…

You’re on his lap!

With a jolt, you’re upright again, hand rubbing each eye in turn.

“Sorry to wake you,” he says with a chuckle. “Didn’t think you’d fall asleep so soon.”

Wondering just how much you’ve missed, you check the laptop. It’s off… “So soon? But it’s finished?”

“But our date hasn’t!” He exclaims. “I’ve got this perfect little place in mind: the pasta is to _die_ fo-”

“ _Shh_!” You snap, pressing a hand over the mouth of his mask, as if that’ll do anything. You heard something: you swear. Those are…that was a door.

“Security,” Wrench says, as if he’s been expecting them.

“But you said it was empty?!” You squeal, gripping his collar.

He gulps, audibly. “ _Probably_ empty,” he corrects. “C-can you let go? It’s turning me on a bit too much.” Hurriedly, you let go, hoping he can’t see the blush forming on your cheeks. “And anyway, I thought you said you liked thrills?”

Heatedly, you argue as he shuts his laptop and you quietly pack away the food. Once they’re inside his bag, you both stuff the blankets in after. Your heart is racing.

Bags on your backs, you scurry to the corner of the nearest vending machine. Wrench pops his head around the edge of it.

It returns, immediately. He gestures for you to be silent. Slowly, he jabs a finger in the direction of the rest of the pathway. _Ah_. There’s a guard there.

The footsteps near and Wrench grabs your hand. The pulse that’s rising in your throat is almost painful – you can feel your heart in your mouth when the flashlight finds you, casting your shadows on the wall behind you.

“Now!” He yells, pulling you to your feet.

Before you can even draw a full breath, Wrench has charged into the guard, sending him smashing into a vending machine, and you’re sprinting away together. Hands gripping onto each other for dear life, your heavy breathing drowns out any sign of the guard chasing you. You run until you reach the stairs. It burns: your thighs feel like death and you’re sure you’ve pulled something, but somehow, you’re pulling _him_ up the stairs and out the door.

You leap over the metal fence by the entrance, stopping only briefly when you’re further up the street. Wrench catches you, matching your pace, and you pant, “Where now?”

Surprisingly calm about the situation, he takes your hand again and points towards the multi-storey car park peeking out from a row of trees. Under his direction, you cut around a small group of drunken people, and when you reach the entrance to the car park, you leap over the barrier and head straight up a level.

“Why are we going up?” You ask, throat burning. “We’ll be cornered!”

Pulling you with him round a sharp corner, he grunts, “Well, we can’t exactly go down now, can we?”

Just as your legs seize up and you feel like you’re going to collapse, he slows down, taking you with him under one arm. As though he’s done it before, he picks a large car to hide behind and props you against it. The feeling you’re left with is both amazing and uncomfortable. You feel alive like you never have before – adrenaline and liquid fire pumping through your veins – but it _hurts_.

Only when he squeezes it do you realise he still has your hand. “If you hear footsteps, stand on the running board,” he whispers. Shakily, you nod in confirmation.

With your back flat against the cold metal, you can almost feel the time ticking away. Suddenly, you catch a flash of light in the wing mirror. As quietly as you can, move to stand on the running board. The light makes a sweep and the footsteps near: two pairs now.

It’s…terrifying.

But with a frustrated grunt, they seem to give up. Sure enough, the footsteps and voices retreat and once again you’re left in the dark in the quiet.

You crumple to the ground, landing soundly on your backside with your legs stretched out in front of you. Wrench follows you although he lands much less gracefully. With a little ‘ow’, he rights himself and sits up.

“That…that was a lot different than I thought it’d be,” you breathe.

Question marks flash. “In a good way?”

“Yeah. In a good way.” You smile, letting it fade on your face as you scan his mask. It’s stupid but you hope there’s going to be something else – an expression, a face. If you’re being completely honest with yourself, you’d really like to kiss him. But you know that if someone wears a mask, they wear it for a reason. It’d be like him asking you to see your bare arm.

It’s a vulnerable position to be in.

Feeling like he knows what you’re thinking, you look away, a little ashamed. He’s been nothing but respectful…why can’t you?

“Close your eyes,” he says, his voice noticeably deeper.

You do as you’re told – albeit slightly hesitantly – and clench them closed. Resisting the urge to look when you hear the mask come off, your heart speeds up.

In a simple gesture, he presses a kiss to the corner of your lips.

It feels like it leaves a mark – a warm imprint still humming after he’s gone. Once his mask is back on, you open your eyes again – your expression one of pure happiness and confusion rolled into a giddy smile.

You don’t know quite what that was, but you want more.

-

The walk home is quiet: there isn’t much to say. ‘Thanks for the date, I love nearly getting arrested’ doesn’t seem to fit anywhere. Outside your apartment building, you come to a stop, walking up the short amount of steps to the door with him.

“Well, thank you for a…” you pause, “memorable…date.” You’re only teasing and he knows it.

Wrench laughs, happy carets looking down at you. “I aim to please,” he says through a grin. While you get your keys out of your bag, he mumbles, “Hey, I’d…like to do this again sometime…if you want to…?”

Happily, you nod. “Me too!” Your smile falters. “Although…maybe just…a pizza next time? I don’t know if I can keep up with a felony a week.”

“A pizza sounds great!” It’s a promise for something more and you kind of can’t wait.

You giggle, turning to enter the building. As you look back at him and give a little wave, he returns it. You know that as soon as you’re in bed you’ll message him straight away. That is, if you can keep your eyes open. The adrenalin is wearing off now and you’re left feeling as pleasantly sleepy as you were in the subway.

All things considered, it was a very good date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm so, so sorry this took so long to post - I've been so busy and just didn't feel in the mood for writing. I hope this is okay! I haven't checked over it as much as I'd like, but oh well. And I say this every time but WOW what a response! I can't thank you enough!   
> Feedback really helps, so if you have any then don't hesitate to share it! Thank you again xox


	5. Procrastination to the Highest Degree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as you think you're one step ahead of Sparks, he has to go and ruin it. Now you've got a whole load of work to do and not enough attention to give it.  
> And you never did finish that sandwich.

As you sink your teeth into a particularly good sandwich, your eyes squint down to the business phone in your lap in some sort of nervousness. Well, not really _nervousness_ , but…anticipation? You’re waiting for something to come through, but you’re not sure what. Sparks hasn’t been helpful the past few days since your date with Wrench and has, once again, left you completely out of the loop. Sure, he could be busy with work, but he’s always managed to send you a little message before…why not now?

Strange, really, considering that you’re the one he’s hired to do his work.

Should you be doing something? Probably. But are you? Do you plan to? Nope and _absolutely_ _not_.

Feeling exhausted from a particularly energetic shopping session (only made possible by Spark’s generous first payment), you’d had to take a break in the park. It’s sunny and warm and for once you’re not entirely bothered by everything and everyone. Just for today, other people’s conversations are interesting and kind of cute, not generally just…irritating.

You set your sandwich down and pick up your phone in its place. People-watching can be entertaining – just skimming through Blume profiles, camera rolls, texts…Living by yourself and having very minimal interactions with the outside world is isolating. It’s a weird way to remind yourself that other people have lives too. A very invasive way, but a way nonetheless.

Dotted around the park, there are a few really interesting people, and then there are some _interesting_ ones. As in ‘collects garden gnomes’ kind of interesting.

Just as you start to delve deeper into gnome-man’s personal information, a guy walks across the path in front of you. He’s on his phone, so it cuts your connection from your previous target and sets him as your new one. You’re honestly a bit miffed to begin with – you kind of want to see these gnomes – and then you read the text. He’s talking about the update! _Your_ update!

_Glitchy as fuck man. Can’t even open the app._

As though you were tased, you spring into standing, lugging your backpack over your shoulder, slinging your shopping bags onto your arm afterwards, phone in hand. Focussing the majority of your attention on reading through the rest of his conversation, it barely registers to you that he’s lead you out of the park. It’s fine: you know your way around this area like the back of your hand.

Okay, okay, what is there?

Ah! Through his linked _Invite_ account, you find his handle. _Amadeus_. You’re not sure if he has a secret love of Mozart or just liked the sound of the name. Either way, it’s one step closer to a lead. After a little more searching, you have his friend’s as well, and just as _Amadeus_ looks back at you, you’ve turned on your heel back up the street. With the appropriate links, you’ve sent your discovery to your boss.

You’re not sure when to expect a word back: he might be busy – who can tell with a man like him – but at least you’ve made an effort. It’s now impossible to say you’re not putting enough work into this if you’re the only one who’s been talking.

But today it seems you’re lucky: his reply pops up a couple of minutes later.

_Excellent. I’ve been doing some work of my own. Meet me here. This will be our meeting place from now on – JS_

As per usual, he’s sent an address too. How exciting. Oh well, he’s not just going to _give_ you the money.

-

When you arrive in the foyer of the Blackmore Building, Sparks is waiting for you, leaning against the receptionist’s desk. He’s grinning that self-assured, egotistical grin that you just _adore_.

No, really.

It’s a wonder that you haven’t started associating him with something bad. Like guilt, or something illegal, or that weird feeling in your stomach just before you throw up. Maybe if you go full on _Clockwork Orange_ and condition yourself to vomit every time you see him then you won’t have to do this anymore.

Honestly, what’s to stop you trying it?

But he’s nearing you now, and you’re not sure you can force yourself to throw up so quickly. “Ah, there you are. Perfect timing. Follow me.”

Before you can form a reply, he’s stuffed his hands in his pockets and called the elevator. Rolling your eyes, you follow him, waiting with a sigh for the doors to open. He looks down at your bags and then at you.

“Oh, pardon me,” he shakes his head, taking two of the heaviest from you and selecting the floor.

The doors open and you both step through, hearing them slide shut behind you. A familiar sinking feeling in your stomach jolts you as you begin to move upwards. Unsurely, you thank him. The way he acts around you…usually he just talks to you as if you’re a computer – a machine. Like if he fed you some data, there’d be an output. It’s understandable: your relationship is one of business. Which is why him treating you as just another person feels odd. New – kind of weird.

The elevator tone sounds as the doors open again. Sparks moves out immediately, so you follow behind him. He gives a throwaway glance to you and begins to explain just why he’s called you out here, “The work I’ve been doing,” he starts, nearing a desk with a half-finished cup of coffee forgotten on top of it, “is directly linked to that…who was it? _Amadeus_ you found earlier? In the time I’ve had between meetings, I’ve managed to track down a chain of those DedSec scouts.” By this point, you’re both at a desk. He gestures for you to sit, which you do, and he leans against the half wall next to it after setting your bags down. “Now, it’s likely that most of them will have noticed our ‘update’ – in fact, it’s almost _certain_ that they have – but none of the scouts I’ve found have been talking about it.” Sparks shakes his head, pulling one hand out of his pocket to scratch his at the thin covering of stubble on his chin. With a frown, he draws his attention to you. “But yours has, hasn’t he?”

You nod.

“It doesn’t seem right to me. Why would none of them question it?” He exhales quickly in what you gather to be a laugh of disbelief. “Perhaps some of them have and I just haven’t spotted it – but why nothing obvious?”

Geez. Loaded question… “Uh,” you blink up at him, shifting your gaze to the computer next to you when the eye-contact gets too much. “It could be any number of things. I’ve looked into the history of the DedSec app – their servers are prone to crashes. Too many people updating and downloading at once, coupled with all the users already _on_ the app…and especially after a big stunt…” You trail off with a small shrug. “That seems the most plausible explanation. You can’t fix a crash on somebody else’s server, no matter how good of a hacker you are. And without the app to contact the moderators…what can you do?” You give another shrug and glance back up to him. Is he closer than before? “Maybe the scouts just saw no point in complaining about it until a patch rolls around? They could be thinking it’s just a bug. Sometimes there’s an incompatibility with the newest system updates, conflicts with other apps – a lot of those guys probably have jailbroken devices, too – although all of those problems are uncommon, especially when the creators are _DedSec_. Seriously – the hackers to beat all hackers making a mistake? It’s like…‘once-in-a-good-Siska-movie’ uncommon.”

It’s evident that there were more than a few words that Sparks didn’t understand, but he’s definitely got the gist of it which is what you want. After a few seconds of careful thought, he says, “So…what do we do about it?”

Somehow in the past couple of minutes, he’s positioned himself so he’s leaning almost directly above you. You’re left to sit in his shadow and stare up at him and his every move. If this were anyone else, you would have moved. Deep down, you know that he wouldn’t do anything to you – just by his posture you can _tell_ that he won’t. But it’s a reminder of your predicament. You’re stuck beneath him and he is the one in control. It’s not a threat – just a simple, wordless reminder.

In a sudden shiver, you’re glad you’re on his good side.

The slight smirk he’s sporting suggests that he’s got some ideas of his own. You want to ask why he’s looking for your opinion when he so clearly has his sorted out, but yet again you’re smarter than to question him. In a way, you feel he knows it.

Tension building in the air, you wrack your brain for something to suggest. A course of action that shows enough ‘feeling’.

It _is_ half of the job, so…

Obviously, your ultimate goal is to knock out another part of the DedSec machine. You’ve taken your first step and sown the salt in their metaphorical crop fields. There’s a particularly destructive virus floating around in a growing portion of their fanbase and, so far, nothing much has been said about it. But it definitely won’t stay that way. So that leads you to your next step…

Something with enough _feeling_? You have an idea.

Sceptically, you look up to him. “How illegal are you willing to go here?”

“I have no particular reservations,” he pauses, a short puff of a laugh escaping him. “Although if it’s going to leave a mess, then I’d rather you give me some warning.”

Offended and shocked at just how illegal _he’s_ thinking of, you violently shake your head. “ _No_! No, no, no, not _that_ kind of illegal, I—” you wish you’d been more specific… “I…I was thinking more like doxxing them…I guess?” God, it sounds so much more real when you say it out loud. You backpedal, quickly. “Or at least threatening to.” When Sparks tilts his head, silently asking for an explanation, you sigh a little. “Finding someone’s personal information, and then publishing it online.”

Slowly, as if processing it as a viable option, he nods. “Yeah…” this time stronger, “ _Yeah_ , I like it: we make the ones who notice our work an offer – stay quiet about the update and we’ll keep this to ourselves…” He trails off.

“And if they say no?” You ask, knowing well enough what he’ll have you do if they refuse. But what else can you say; you’ve got to humour him! Doxxing is a particularly touchy subject for you – you know, seeing as Prime_Eight have threated to out your personal information to all the enemies you’ve made…and all because you asked to leave. And now that you’re involved with something as large as this? It’s only further incentive to be even more cautious of it.

“Then we ruin them,” he returns, a small smile twitching at the corner of his lips. After a frown, he looks you straight in the eyes. “And how will it be done…anonymously?”

Well…

You’re silent for a little while. An idea appears. “How about a fake handle? We create this profile…this… _persona_ – how about… _Alibi_?”

Sparks clicks. “Yes! Now, while you get started on the one you found earlier – I’ll go check for any more who’ve discovered it.” He leans over and pats you on your good shoulder. You figure by now that he’s worked the whole ‘arm thing’ out. “Great work.” Only when he takes a couple of steps away do you realise that you’ve been holding your breath the entire time. And only when he stops and turns back to face you again do you realise why. “And…perhaps our _Alibi_ could be a rogue DedSec member? Give her a little backstory, eh?”

Once again, you nod, putting up a front. You plaster a – hopefully convincing – smile across your face.

“That’s the smile I was looking for!” He grins back at you. “You’re getting better at this, sunshine.”

Hm. Praise. From him.

Are you…is that you… _enjoying_ it?

A thought pops into your head just before he’s out of earshot. “W-wait, this isn’t a permanent solution, you know that? Once they find that there’s no background or history to this ‘ _Alibi_ ’, aren’t they going to be a little suspicious?”

Sparks turns on his heel. “Perhaps. But as long as we have the information we need against them, they’ll be pinned under our little fingers…” He holds his own up and something shines – a signet ring. How _Julius Sparks_ of him. You give a short nod. You know the feeling. In a smile that makes his top lip curl up slightly, he scoffs, straightening his jacket. It’s as if he’s puffing out his chest and hiding it beneath the movement. “I know: I did put some thought into this while you were picnicking.” While you try to disguise your confusion as gratitude, he decides that he’s actually _not_ done talking yet.

Has he been tracking your business phone…?

Casually, he leans against the half wall once more, withdrawing a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. With practised ease, he flips it open, offering you one. Out of habit, you take it. Before you can think more on it, he’s got one between his lips and is holding a lighter to yours. The first puff of smoke clouds around you as his starts to glow. It almost makes your eyes slide closed at the feeling. “You know Sidney Dane?” He asks, eyes glinting through the cloud.

Unsure where he’s going, you nod. “ _Yeah_ …” Of course you know him! Who doesn’t know the stoic, silver-fox of the _Instant Jeopardy_ saga? His films are cult classics, rivalling even Siska’s earlier pieces. As you think more on it, you realise just how useful anything he could have to say against DedSec would be. People know him: trust him, even. He’s grown up in the public eye, and they know _everything_ about him. Where he gets his hair cut, what his mother makes for Thanksgiving, which Italian craftsman makes his shoes (and precisely which cow the leather came from)…he’s an open guy. No secret.

So why would he lie?

Answer is, he probably wouldn’t. And on top of that, there’s an intense rivalry between the Siska and Dane fans – there are so many podcasts from geeks in their bedrooms heatedly debating which the more accomplished is. With Siska’s word for DedSec and, potentially, Dane’s word against them, it’d tear apart their fanbases. Could be a huge blow. Although, personally, you care for Siska more: almost solely because something seems slightly off about Dane. What kind of person tells their fans what brand of toilet paper they use??

He just seems weird.

A particularly thick puff of smoke brings you back into real life. “Well, he’s been a guest on my show once or twice. I’m pretty close with the guy.” He seems to mistake the look of slight discomfort on your face for one of disbelief. “If you need any proof, then the premier for the recent _Instant Jeopardy: Justice is Calling_ was funded by _my_ company. Look it up, go on, it’s all there.” He’s got a smug grin plastered across his face. It’s making you kind of uneasy. “Let’s just say, he owes me a favour or two.”

-

Ugh. _Ugh_.

It’s kind of sad that you’re this good at procrastinating. Seriously: it’s been about three hours since he left you alone to your work, and a good amount of that time was spent nodding along to his stories of Sidney Dane and their time together. You only listened so you wouldn’t have to start your work. At no point was there any genuine interest, and there certainly isn’t now. Did you know that they once played _paintball_ together? No?

Well, you certainly do now.

But now that you’re faced with the task of _actually_ writing up the blackmail to this guy, you’re not sure his stories are that bad. Sparks was _kind_ enough to give you a list of the so called ‘top priority’ scouts, just to give you an idea of who might speak out first. That rules out the excuse that you’re not sure where to start.

In reality, just by looking at you he’ll know what’s going through your head: that you just feel too bad about it to do anything.

But you can do it. At this point, your conscience is not clear. It wasn’t to begin with. The least you can do is just keep it to a minimum – you know, not going overboard by listing just which body parts you’ll remove and in what order…

But seriously.

If you’re being honest with yourself, you’ve only written a plan for the message you’ll send to _Amadeus_ – not the finished piece. It’s not fantastic for two hours’ worth of potential work. You eye the burned out cigarette in its dish by the keyboard. If only he’d thought enough to offer you another then maybe you’d have the rest of it done by now. With a heavy, downcast sigh, you set your fingers on the keys. All you’ve got to do is write the final copy of your message – you know it’d _kinda_ spoil the ominous tone you’re trying to set if you used the wrong ‘there’, ‘they’re’, or ‘their’.

Or maybe that’s just you.

You’ve pressed down the shift key when your phone buzzes.

“ _Fucksake…_ ” You groan in a slur. Defeated, you spin in your chair and pick up your phone, looking to see who the text is from. There are a few people it could be from, but only one you hope for.

And it is! _Wrench_ glows across the display like your ticket out of here.

It’s probably a little dangerous to talk to him here, but you’re curious and absolutely _don’t_ want to do what you’re supposed to. But…you _have_ written a plan, so maybe you can afford one quick message back?

You open the text and laugh in delight, a hand flying to cover your mouth when you see Sparks look up from across the room. The half wall is just tall enough to hide you from the eyes down. His message. It’s a picture – a meme, in fact.

Cautiously, you look up to Sparks again, finding him occupied – phone pressed to one ear – so think it safe enough to type a reply.

_hmm…alright i guess. i’ve got better tho._

You set your phone down as a minute passes with no reply. Maybe you weren’t meant to say anything back to it? But it just feels like fate telling you to just _get the fuck on with it_ , so you set your fingers back on the keys and set to work. Maybe if you listen to music, it’ll help?

No.

If you go back on your phone you won’t ever get off it. Deciding to trust your gut, you _finally_ get back to what you’re being payed to do.

You’re three words in when your phone pings.

_o rlly? impress me._

You smirk, opening the vault of weird pictures you’ve collected on your camera roll. Any normal person would be disgusted by how much storage you’ve taken up with them, but somehow you know Wrench won’t think the same. It takes a good minute of scrolling back and forth, but soon you’ve chosen a favourite and sent it. You place your phone face down on the desk and determinedly set back to writing up.

You get as far as the first sentence.

_duuuude_

_i think_

_i think i’m in love with you <3_

Without warning, you laugh – all it took was some memes – but then you realise Sparks is standing over you. Guiltily, you raise your head to him. He’s…unreadable. With great caution, you put your phone in your bag and zip it up: a silent promise to keep it there. It’s as if you’re moving around a wild animal – slow and calculating.

One firm finger taps your monitor, and you follow it up to him, watching as he shakes his head slightly.

The hand retracts as he shoves it into his pocket. “People don’t blackmail themselves…” He warns, raising his eyebrows in expectation as he retreats to his corner of the office.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I gathered.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD I am SO SO SO sorry!! I never ever meant to leave this so long, I hope it's worth it! If you don't care for the explanation, that's cool, thank you for reading! But in short, I've just had half term and been so busy each day that I couldn't get more than a couple of hundred words in a night. It's crawled along so slowly but now I've had the time to finish this chapter and hopefully get back into a more regular schedule.  
> Thank you all for your patience and WOW did this get a lot of reads while I was away from it! I probably say that every time, I can't even remember anymore lmao  
> Yay, hope you enjoyed this, there will be more to come - and your comments really do help, so if you have something you'd like to say about this (good or bad) then I'd love to hear it! Have a great day xox

**Author's Note:**

> Please read!  
> I've been back and forth on whether or not I should post anything and so I sucked it up and did. It's probably not amazing and I'm not sure how regular the updates will be or if anyone actually wants to read this, but yeah. Here it is, I guess! I am absolutely 100% open and welcoming to any feedback or criticism you have - it helps and I'd love to read it! Please, please tell me what you think, otherwise I sit and wonder if it's as awful as I think it is (which it might be, feel free to say lol).   
> If I've left something unclear or wrong then say and I will correct it!   
> Thank you! xox


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